


Basenji

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blow Jobs, Collars, M/M, Master/Pet, Oral Sex, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29550750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Ignis picks up a familiar stray.
Relationships: Ignis Scientia/Nyx Ulric
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	Basenji

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DestinyIslandWanderer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestinyIslandWanderer/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He checks the dashboard when he first slips into the car—only two hours overtime. As far as his job goes, that isn’t particularly bad. Since graduating a slew of rushed political university programs and throwing himself completely and utterly into the role of his prince’s right-hand-man, Ignis has never once gotten home on time. 

His work day was supposed to end at six, but it’s only a few minutes past eight. There’s still time to go for a late coffee. It might keep him up, but it isn’t like he won’t down more in the morning anyway, when he inevitably has to get up early to drive Noctis halfway across the capitol or help him through a mountain of paperwork or just generally run his whole life. For a brief moment, Ignis considers it. He never takes weekends off. He’s never had a proper vacation. He could use a break—could use _something_.

But he knows that if he does go to a restaurant, his phone will buzz, and he’ll just be whisked away again for something else, so may as well not bother. He turns the key in the ignition and pulls out from the curb, headed home. With luck, he might be able to catch Prompto for a quick game of King’s Knight before he has to check in that Noctis made it to training with Gladiolus. Then he’ll probably pick Noctis up and take him home, even though he’s theoretically off duty and Gladiolus is perfectly capable of doing it himself. 

As he takes two lefts out of his way to avoid traffic, he considers not even bothering going home in the first place. Maybe he should just turn around and escort Noctis to practice himself. His stomach growls, protesting—he took the time to make Noctis dinner but had too much work to sit down and eat himself. No, he should head home. There’s just enough time to eat, though none to unwind. Or enjoy himself. Rarely is. 

He takes a right around the park, where the cars have thinned out considerably. It’s open enough for the falling sunset to ripple through his tinted windows and glimmer in his glasses. He adjusts them with one glove-covered finger. When both hands are on the wheel again, something catches in the corner of his eye. 

His foot eases off the gas. His car’s not as smooth as the Regalia, but it’s still crown-funded and decent enough. It slows, putty in his hands, and he’s practiced enough to keep it at _just_ the right pace to match the man on the sidewalk.

The jogger stops, and Ignis does too, pulling up to the curb despite it not, technically, being a parking zone. He doesn’t plan to be long. The man rakes a hand back through his sweat-matted shorn hair and sucks in a long breath. He must be at the tail end of a long work out, because it takes quite a lot to make Nyx Ulric breathless. 

When his hand falls back down, it grazes his sweater, tugging the collar just enough for Ignis to catch a flash of silver beneath it. He’s in casual black pants with few accoutrements—no belt, no jacket, no excess jewelry save the one telltale thing. It’s a surprise to see him in it, given that they haven’t run into each other for a week and don’t have anything scheduled.

It’s just pure, raw luck that Ignis spotted him out, and that he just happened to be wearing the thick, richly embroidered dog collar that Ignis had specially designed just for his pretty throat. 

Eyes on his constrained Adam’s apple, Ignis greets, “Nyx. ...What are you doing tonight?”

It’s an open question, an easy one to answer, but obvious code they’ve used before, and Nyx grunts accordingly, “Nothing.” His hands land on his hips, braced there, posture straightening, even though Ignis isn’t quite trailing up and down his sleek form—not yet. He adds by way of a real explanation, “Just going for a run.”

‘Nothing’ was enough. Ignis takes the invitation and teases, “Without a leash?”

Nyx doesn’t blush like he used to—like _Ignis_ used to, especially that first time he put a pet collar on a man twice his size. Muscle-wise, at least. Not that Ignis isn’t deadly in his own way. Nyx stands firm but never towers over Ignis and quietly answers, with just a _hint_ of a grin at the corner of his lips, “Guess I’m a bad dog tonight.”

“Indeed.” Ignis nods towards the back seat. “Then you’d best get in, so I can take you to the pound.”

Nyx lifts a hand to adjust his neckline—to pull his grey sweater down more, showing off the collar he must’ve put on himself, like that’ll save him—there’s no need to send away a dog with its master’s name and number hanging from its throat. Ignis ignores the pendant, because they’ve already decided the game, and really, the collar’s not enough. Ignis has made it perfectly clear that he likes his pets at home and won’t have them running loose off-leash. With a small sigh of acceptance, Nyx moves towards the car. 

As he slips into the back, Ignis watches him in the rearview mirror, idly wondering just when that collar went on—right before the walk, or first thing in the morning, right after a shower? Or has it been on for _days_? Has Nyx been wearing it under his uniform when he’s on duty, standing outside the Citadel, serving his king and prince but with another man’s name written all over him? And when he puts it on, does he think of _Ignis_ putting it on, tying him up tight and putting him down in his place?

It doesn’t really matter. In reality, Nyx is a grown man with the freedom to play with his toys how he likes, to bait his pseudo-boyfriend if he wants, and at the end of the day, Ignis is extremely grateful to have such a handsome man in his backseat, proudly wearing his name. 

The backdoor snaps shut, and Ignis eases back onto the gas. Nyx muses over the hum of the engine, “How was your week?”

And Ignis is tempted to gush that it was busy and taxing and just generally unload all over someone actually willing to listen, but not yet. Not until they’re at home on the couch—or at least, he’s on the couch, with a steaming cup of tea and a newspaper, with his loyal puppy naked at his feet and leaning against his lap. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel, itching to thread through Nyx’s hair. He opens his mouth and gently commands, “If you’re a barker, I’m afraid they might have to put a muzzle on you.” And by _they_ , Ignis means _him_ , because the pound is the Spartan guest bedroom in the back of Ignis’ apartment where he can chain Nyx to the radiator and break out the more hardcore toys. 

A shiver runs down his spine. This is _exactly_ what he needed. He hopes Gladiolus can handle all of Noctis’ training and transport for the night. He’ll resume his duties in the morning. He doesn’t even want to think about _work_ now, even though he does love Noctis. He also loves the man in his backseat. And he loves the way Nyx clamps up, a fierce gleam in his eye. He’s a beast that no man should tame, but he’s also a soldier, born to take orders, and he takes Ignis’ so well. 

Ignis rarely has so much control in life. He relishes the control over Nyx’s. He luxuriates in the silence all the way home, because it gives him time to just _think_ about nothing but all the filthy things he could do to his lover. Every time he catches a glimpse of Nyx’s eyes in the mirror, he knows the feeling is mutual. 

Then he’s pulling into the parking garage, down into his spot, amidst a sea of other lifeless cars and no people. Even if there were, his windows are dark enough to keep the press from every spotting Noctis. He leaves the dash lights on but nothing else. Doesn’t need it. There’s just enough of a neon glow to accentuate Nyx’s best features, and Ignis has his whole body memorized anyway. 

Ignis stares straight at Nyx’s reflection and benevolently decides, “You were well-behaved for the ride home, at least.”

Nyx lifts a brow at the word ‘home’, but wisely doesn’t bark. Ignis amends, “Maybe I won’t turn you in after all.”

It’d be nice if he had a spare leash in the glove compartment so he could take Nyx up properly—bound and on all fours—but Ignis never keeps supplies anywhere Noctis could find them. So Nyx gets a break, and Ignis asks, “Do you think you deserve a treat for that?”

Nyx nods and makes a whining sound in the back of his throat that _almost_ sounds canine. Ignis appreciates the effort. He wants to climb back between the seats and reward it. 

But Ignis is a man of grace and knows Nyx appreciates that. So he opens the door and exits properly, locking the car but leaving it on—not running—for the light. Then he climbs into the back, shuts the door, and wriggles back in the small space to push the front seat forward, giving him room to kneel down in what little leg space there is. It’s a tight fit, but he manages. Nyx’s breath hitches when Ignis reaches for his fly.

He gets the zipper down, slips his hand into Nyx’s boxers, and pauses when Nyx’s hand lands in his hair. Those thick, calloused fingers glide back through his upturned bangs, fisting there, and Ignis fights the pleasure of that with the tone of their game. Ultimately, he slaps Nyx’s wrist away and mutters, “Don’t paw at me.” 

Nyx grunts, “Yes, Sir,” even though that could be construed as barking. Ignis forgives it. 

He doesn’t _really_ want Nyx in the pound tonight. He wants a treat himself. As he pulls Nyx’s glorious cock out of white boxers, Ignis is reminded that there are few better treats in Insomnia. Even fresh-brewed Ebony can’t compete with the pulsing warmth of Nyx’s tanned skin. There’s no restaurant that serves anything half so delectable and filling. There’s a split second where Ignis just holds it in both hands, his fingers just barely able to encircle it, and then he’s diving in to lick a hard, wet line up the slit and sucks the foreskin into his mouth. It does taste a little sweaty, not the cleanest, but he doesn’t care. His stomach’s still woefully empty. It’s not the heartiest meal, but at least it has some protein. 

He doesn’t laugh at his own crude quip because his mouth is already stretched open. But he does smile around the head as he pushes lower, sucking in one delightful centimeter after the next. He always has to stretch so _wide_ for it. Wide enough that his jaw already aches when he reaches halfway. But he keeps pushing anyway, wanting it down the back of his throat, wanting it all over him. He loves how heavy it is on his tongue, how warm it feels and the little rivulets of veins. He worms his way right to the base, buries himself in the dark curls there, and just savours it— _this_ is what he needed.

He looks up through half-lidded eyes and sees Nyx watching him, gorgeous and adoring, an absolutely perfect specimen and _all Ignis’._ Nyx puts both hands behind the back of his head, holding them there like he’s trying to resist holding Ignis. His thighs are tense against Ignis’ cheeks. Ignis hollows them out and sucks _hard_ , watching Nyx the whole time. 

Nyx shudders and groans, gritting his teeth, all screwed up and already rock-hard in Ignis’ mouth. That probably shouldn’t make Ignis proud, but it does. He knows glaives are animals that get hard for everything, but he chalks the speed and rigidity up to his own prowess and revs up for it—he starts pulling away, twisting to corkscrew off, sucking as he goes, then blowing at the head and pushing back, watching it all disappear again right down into the depths of his throat. He’s done this enough to not worry about gagging. Nyx laughed at him once for that. He hog-tied Nyx in the ‘pound’ and left him there all night. He had a whole puddle between his legs in the morning, having rubbed himself raw against Ignis’ expensive hardwood floor. 

One of the nice things about bedding a warrior as strong as Nyx is not having to worry about holding back, and Ignis doesn’t—he goes wild on Nyx’s cock, falling prey to his own desires, his own want to _choke_ on Nyx Ulric’s dick. He’s been fantasizing about it all week. Other things too, of course, like fucking Nyx raw in the training yard showers and riding his dick in a comfortable armchair and stepping on the back of Nyx’s head to push his face further down into a dog bowl full of fresh cum. But mostly this. There’s just something so bizarrely satisfying about sucking Nyx off, and Ignis does it with pleasure. 

He gets himself hard in the process but doesn’t even have enough room to hump the backseat. He holds himself back, an exercise in restraint—which is fine; he’s patient. He can get his dog to mount him once they’re up in his apartment, and he’ll come properly, preferably in bed with room to spread out. He focuses on Nyx’s cock instead, worshiping it with every little trick he knows, until Nyx is practically trembling with want and growling behind clenched teeth. 

Nyx comes with a long, languid hiss, and Ignis pushes to the base again and stays there, taking it so deep that the mess sloshes right down his throat. He’d like to taste it but won’t risk sullying his car. So he stays with his nose in Nyx’s crotch and his chin squished against Nyx’s sac, swallowing one load after the other. Nyx groans like he’s in heaven. 

He probably is. He tells Ignis all the time how good Ignis is at giving head. He’s more grateful than most of the men in Ignis’ life. He _always_ says thank you when Ignis makes him breakfast, unlike a certain bratty prince Ignis loves. 

Maybe someday, that’ll become a permanent fixture, and Ignis will admit he loves his dog enough to suggest they convert the pound into a second bedroom. Not that they’d need a second bedroom. Ignis rather likes when they share a bed. He never feels safer than when he’s curled up in Nyx’s arms, and there’s no better body pillow. 

The stream’s over, and Ignis realizes he’s just languidly suckling at Nyx’s spent cock. Nyx is making small noises but mostly holding back, body slumped down in the seat and not so taut anymore. 

Ignis wants to _see_ that body. He hates when his pet wears clothes. He wants to lick more cum off Nyx’s six-pack and run his hands all over the muscles in Nyx’s thighs. 

Later. He begrudgingly pulls himself off of Nyx’s dick, giving it an extra little lick at the end before tucking it back. His jaw’s sore, but it’s worth it. His throat feels raw—he needs water. 

He stalls anyway. He straightens out, ignoring the crack of his knees, and climbs right into Nyx’s lap. Both hands around Nyx’s broad shoulders, he leans in for a long, deep kiss that Nyx eagerly returns, salty flavouring and all. 

When Ignis has had his fill, he pulls back to run his fingers along Nyx’s collar, just enjoying the view. He murmurs, “I don’t know who let you out without your leash, but I’m glad you didn’t run off.”

Nyx answers, “I’ve got a good owner. I’d always come home.”

Ignis smiles. Another kiss, and he clambers out of the car, taking his man with him.


End file.
